My dog on the blog!

On Friday I tried with minimal effort to leave my 91 year old dog in the downstairs powder room, hoping to escape for some thrift store shopping. You may ask why he was banished to the bathroom. It’s sad, but he has been laden with Cushing’s disease, causing him to act very peculiar lately. Drinking massive amounts of water and sporting a pot belly, similar to that of a pig. His new preferred aperitif is cardboard, rather than his scrumptious doggie treats. I assume they’re scrumptious. In the past it was customary for him to gobble them up and do a happy dance. It seems the ever available bowl of supreme kibble has become mundane. He now prefers the centers of the toilet paper rolls, excess cardboard from the new television, and cotton balls.

My once confident little Bichon, who could often be found lounging on a couch in a room independent of the family, has reverted to his previous mischievous puppy dog status. He needs constant supervision, much like that of an impish toddler or senile Alzheimer patient.

He has spells of oddness, where he stands and stares with a blank look on his face, then proceeds to pee unwittingly. Other times he gets a look of panic on his mug, then bolts frantically from the room, searching furiously for a place to vomit. He covertly knows how to drink out of the toilet bowl, I regret that he hasn’t figured out how to puke in one!

To safe guard against these unpleasant accidents I take him out hourly, and keep him in close proximity at all times. I adore this little man, he has showered us with hundreds of hours of pleasure. On his good days he’s still a little goof ball, who brings a smile to our faces with his crazy antics.

His insecurity has become a social hindrance lately. Crying like a baby when we leave him home alone. Breaks my heart to know it's a sincere devastation for him. During his routine car rides, when a family member exits the car, he immediately passes gas so vile that I shockingly check the seat for excrement. So far, touch wood, there’s been none.

After a few whimpering episodes in the power room I succumbed to my weak nature. Leash in hand I rescued the little fluff ball, inviting him to come for the car ride. During the excursion I regularly checked the car for assurance that he is safe and hasn't been absconded. The trip was a success; we found material for art and sewing projects, a shelf to alter into a cd stand and one fancy vintage dress that my daughter collects. Everyone was happy, especially the dog!